Masked Soldier
by Antipathy
Summary: A low-ranking shinigami is liberated from Las Noches at the end of the Winter War. The thing is, ever since she'd been experimented on by Aizen himself, she's been hearing a voice inside her head....
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Bleach; said manga belongs to Kubo-sama. This OC belongs to me, though. Hands off.**

**The lonely first chapter to this fic has been sitting neglected in the dusty corners of my profile; I'm continuing it, and for now am resubmitting it. Second is mostly done, as well as fragments of third, fourth and most of fifth.**

**I really love this premise, so here's to hoping I don't screw it up in my first multi-chapter (because, yes, this was developed before _When Plot Bunnies_ _Attack_). All I can say is to be prepared for constant chronological shifts in this section.**

* * *

I could remember only two things: voices. Voices and and an intense pain.

That's what I told them, at least. I told them I don't remember what the voices said, or who they belonged to. I don't think they believe me.

The truth is, the whole incident is carved into my mind to the point that I couldn't let them go if I tried. Not if I used a dozen dosages of memory replacement, or induced amnesia. Not even if I died. The terror, the hellish pain will carry on over to the afterlife to haunt my reincarnated self.

* * *

_"She's awake, Aizen-sama."_

_"__Ah, that's good." A figure leaned towards me in the dark. "How are you feeling, Satsuki-chan?"_

_I shivered in a corner, as far away from the voice as I could remain. The words felt like a knife against my throat._

"_Don't be afraid. I just want your help with a little project." I shook my head jerkily. "I promise, Satsuki-chan, we won't hurt you."_

_I couldn't see, but rather felt him kneeling in front of me, holding out a small object. It shone in the dark, emitting a foreboding light. I packed as much of my starved frame as I could into my corner, but it was descending..._

"_Aizen-sama, are you sure we should attempt this outside of a contained premise?" the other voice asked nervously._

"_It's not like you to be this anxious, Szayel." It was said in good humor, but I could detect an underlying sharpness to it._

"_It's_—_it's just, the way we've prepared this, Aizen-sama. Tempering her reiatsu, scraping her mind clean, opening it until it's become hyper-sensitive to external spiritual influences. This all has the potential to go terribly wrong."_

_I held my breath. What did they mean?_

_I saw a flash in the corner of my eye. Before I could respond I felt something hard and edged pressed against my forehead. It was warm, like a diamond left in the sun._

"_Taichō..." I breathed._

"_Don't worry... it's fine..." the voice soothed. It was anything but. I tried to make my body respond. _

_Move! _Move!

_But I couldn't. I couldn't move. It felt as though my body was shutting down, suffocating, and couldn't do a thing about it... _

_My mind fuzzed over, too hazed to recognize the bands of reiatsu restraining me. I was already drunk just from being close to the man. The sheer quantity of his reiatsu was terrifying, yet it increased still. He was pouring it into the strange object, fusing with it. My foggy mind couldn't fathom it._

_Terror consumed me to the point of blind panic. I wasn't curious, not curious at all about that_—_that _thing_ in his hand, the thing that so resembled a piece of star._

_Stars... I could see the night sky. Pretty stars. I tried to reach for them, but found that my arms were weighted down with bricks. I looked down, saw the inky water rushing up towards me. I screamed._

_And... I saw it creeping towards me. A white flash._

_Burning, burning. An intense, all-consuming pain. It shot down my spine and fried each nerve, flayed my skin, shattered my bones. It shredded my muscles and gouged out my eyes until I couldn't see, so torn I was by the pain. It felt as though something was clawing its way into the very core of my being._

_It could have been years before it died down, but eventually I found myself on the dirty floor. I was too exhausted to even pant. The voices were gone._

* * *

That was the last I saw of the men. It turns out that the very next day Soul Society had prepared an ambush from the inside of Las Noches, with the assistance of arrancar dissenters. I was rescued in the raid. Aizen, his two lieutenants falling around him, attempted to escape, but a certain substitute shinigami by the name of Kurosaki intercepted him and fought him in a daring battle to the death. Shortly after he was awarded a white haori and the keys to the fifth division.

From ryoka to hero to captain. I tell you.

Of course, I'd wanted to know every juicy detail of the fight to embellish and spur the rumor mill, but the details were kept quiet. Odd.

"Think harder, Aida," they urged. "What do you remember?"

I always assured them that, no, I couldn't remember a thing. I'm not sure I've convinced them, but it got them off my back for the time being. They still keep a close watch on me. "For your protection," they always insisted. I don't believe them either.

I was returned to my squad, where I requested extra schooling back at the Academy to improve my abilities in hakuda, hohō and kidō. Zanjutsu is out for me now. This is the present day.

* * *

I was nobody special.

I held no rank, no title. After graduating from the Shinigami Academy I was cast into the lower orders of the shinigami, the foot soldiers who carried the_ asauchi_—the nameless zanpakuto. The tests initiating me into the Academy revealed me to be bright for my age and proficient in the arts of kido, but my swordsmanship was lacking.

I was average. I materialized in the thirty-sixth district, I was taken into an average family; I led an average life in the Rukongai as a tailor, skills that carried on over to Soul Society.

Yes, I have some memories of my past life. Just fuzzy snippets and emotions in addition to some skills based off of muscle memory. My name is also given.

My life continued in an average fashion. Eventually one of the recruiting patrols tracked my greater-than-normal reiatsu and pulled me out of my average life in the Rukongai, only to be tossed into an average life in Seireitei. I joined the fifth division and took my place as a sub-seated shinigami.

My true zanpakutō had manifested, but I had yet to learn its name. I meditated each day for it even though I still had not even gained access to my inner world.

Oh, how I miss that life.

I was ejected out of that mind-numbing routine faster than one of Shiba-san's fireworks, right into a terrifying battle.

You see, Yama-jii (as we lower-downs have taken to calling him) had needed all the swords Seireitei had to offer.

And so, eventually, we found ourselves in the thick of battle, a whirlpool of violence. We fought for our lives, something we'd never done before. We were always boasting about our skills in sparring, felt that it taught us everything we needed to prepare for battle. So naïve.

My friends were dropping like flies around me. I can't remember much. At some point my zanpakutō shattered, hilt and all, and I found myself more naked than I had ever been in my life, even more than when the guys at the Academy had raided the girls' shower room.

I had tried to flee. Tried. Tried so hard, and the next thing I remembered, I was in that cell...

It's true that a zanpakutō is a manifestation of your soul, the core of you made solid. Theoretically you should be able to rematerialize it. After I was liberated from the dungeons of Las Noches I tried, and failed. But they'd done something to me. They didn't wall it off, or block me from entering; it was as though they'd dug it out of me and scraped it bare. Like a pumpkin. It couldn't grow back.

I know my zanpakutō is lost to me forever. Dead, like an infant, before it even had a name.

* * *

**Sorry for the lack of action in the first chapter**—**I needed to prepare the set for the story.  
**

**Here's a noob writer begging you to R&R! Suggestions? Comments? Flames? I'll take anything you have to give!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Completed 7/12/08_

**Chapter two is finally up. No more flying around the timeline; this is the present day**—**that is, the future. Yeah. And, as always, the only bleach I own sits forlornly in the laundry room.**

* * *

Darkness, screaming, pain, buzzing...

Buzzing?

I groaned when I realized the source. Alarm.

Alarm must die.

_Crunch._

Alarm dead. Sweet bliss. Not to last, of course.

"Satsuki-chaaan!" I winced at the grating noise.

"Up, Satsuki-chan! Up!" the voice trilled incessantly. "I thought you wanted the extra schooling!"

Schooling. Right. Why? Why again—?

The weight dropped. My zanpakutō. Without my zanpakutō, the central figure in any shinigami's fighting style, I needed to improve in other areas of combat if I wanted to prove any use.

I still have my old asauchi, of course. But an asauchi—literally, "shallow cut"—will never meet the pure wealth of power provided by a real zanpakutō.

I cursed the light filtering through the window and glared up at the woman perched on the sill. She grinned down at me. "Get your lazy ass up and make yourself a bit more useful as a shinigami, Satsuki-chan. You don't want to be booted from of the Fifth Division for being a slovenly pig, do you?"

My only reply was to groan and turn away. It took more than a pillow to block the magnificent kick aimed for the small of my back, however. She dodged the pillow aimed for her face, laughed and took off.

Grumbling all the while, I contemplated mashing my face back into bed, but reluctantly accepted the fact that _I needed to get up._

I lurched out of bed (yes, lurched. I'm not a morning person) and proceeded to dress myself. After I had all the right articles of clothing on each body part I dragged my feet all the way to the dining hall.

There are three separate eating areas in the entire Shinigami Academy, split into years one and two, three and four, five and six. My own, the third, happens to be on the opposite side of campus. Figures.

Whispers followed me through the corridors as I made my way towards the dining hall. Of course. I hadn't been seen for so long since I was tossed into the fray, half the division probably thought I was dead. It didn't help that I had been held captive within Las Noches itself.

My thoughts drifted inward. I wouldn't find any comfort in friendship; most everyone I had chanced to grow close to had fallen around me in the skirmish. My insides twisted at the memory.

I was furious that they were taken from me. I was furious with Yama-jii for his indirect role in their deaths. Most of all, though, I was furious that their deaths had been meaningless.

This wasn't the decisive battle that had ultimately led to Aizen's downfall. It hadn't even inflicted any enemy casualties. An arrancar alert had sounded, most of the captains and vice-captains were tied up with god knows what, and so we and some third seat were thrown in the meat grinder. We were the fodder, the pawns, the victims of "sacrifice-is-a-virtue," a philosophy disgorged by the bastards holed up safe in Seireitei.

Nearly all of us died, the third seat was mangled and I was captured alive. I think we managed to land a scratch on one of the arrancar.

I hardly looked where I was going and bumped into a slight figure rounding the corner. I considered shoving a few choice words her way (for she was decidedly feminine), but quickly clamped down on any rude comments surfacing and opened my mouth to apologize. A white sash around her arm swam into view. My mouth snapped shut. Mortified, I raised my head to look her in the face.

Vice-captain Hinamori frowned across at me. I wasn't exactly tall, but then again, neither was she. "Aida Satsuki?"

I snapped out of my reverie. "F-fukutaichō?"

She glanced down at the clipboard in her arms. "Fifth Division's Commissions Office wants to see you. Directly after lessons. Is that acceptable?"

I could only stare. What did _they_ want with me?

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "Well?"

"I—yes, fukutaichō, I'll meet them," I said, executing a clumsy bow. She brushed aside the gesture and hurried down the hall opposite.

"Yes, yes, get going," she said distractedly. "I must get these reports to Kurosaki-taichō, he's probably hiding from me now, the lazy bastard..." She rounded the corner and drifted out of sight.

I suppressed an amused snort. The captain was no Hitsugaya Tōshirō, we all knew that, but to think that he could raise the ire of the vice-captain, whose personality had undergone a major overhaul since the incident. I stepped into the dining hall—

"Satsuki-_chaaan!_"

Oh, hell.

A familiar figure waved frantically from the farthest table, an idiotic grin plastered to her face. "Satsuki-chan, here! Over here!" Naturally, the eyes of everyone around her snapped over to me.

Whispers swept through the crowd composed mostly of my classmates. Seireitei was still in cleanup stage—small parties were also sent over to the real world to discreetly repair the damaged landscape and modify the residents' memories of such—and the war was fresh on everyone's minds. I was the only captive to return alive, and a lab rat, at that. Steadily, though, everything's been settling down between me and the rest of the world.

But not enough.

Grimacing, I made my way through the throng as fast as I could without breaking into a run. What is it with wanting to stay inconspicuous in life and only managing to attract as much attention as possible?

Making my way over to the far side of her, I reached around and wrenched the still-flailing arm behind her back.

"What the _hell_ do you want, Hikari?" I hissed right in her ear, still aware of dozens of curious eyes.

She looked over at me with what I swear were maliciously sparkling eyes. "What, I can't invite my dearest friend over to eat breakfast?"

I sighed and let it go. I knew she did what she did just to tease, but it was in such an antagonizingly friendly way that it was impossible to tell her off.

She pushed a plate towards me. "Here, Satsuki-chan," she coaxed, "but not too much, I hear it's Jacob-sensei directing kidō practice for sixth years today. Don't vomit."

I groaned and looked down at my plate. Pancakes with onion toppings. _Onion?_

First of all, I have no problem with onions, but pairing it with the abominable breakfast item known as pancakes? Who the hell cooked this?

I picked moodily at my food. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Hikari looking closely at my face. "Something wrong, Satsuki-chan?"

Unconsciously my left hand twitched towards my empty left side, seeking reassurance from something no longer there. The unoccupied space felt like a gaping wound: always there, never changing.

Before, though I had never even spoken to it, my zanpakutō had always been there. I had always felt it, like a benevolent spirit, hiding out in the corners of my mind and lending me its confidence and wisdom. Never before did I feel so naked.

Still staring at my plate, I shook my head and adopted a false smile. "Nothing's wrong, 'Kari," I said, bringing myself to face her.

She smiled, too, though I could see something else in her eyes: a flash of sadness and sympathy. I became acutely aware of the flamboyantly colored zanpakutō at her side, orange wrappings cheerfully proclaiming itself. "As long as you're here, Satsuki-chan, everything will be all right."

* * *

"First group, forward!"

A general groan and rustle of hakamas signaled the advancement of the primary group. Twenty students or so were all lined up in a military fashion, each with an expression of glee or apprehension. Kidō isn't something you just pick up, I guess; you have to _like_ it.

Our teacher, situated off to the left, stared down the line imposingly. "Do this like you learned in class," he said, his voice rumbling over the courtyard, "and remember, gather it in your hand and _not_ in any other body part, Akarō. We want to keep accidents to a minimum."

He took a final sweeping look down the line. "Begin!"

I watched this all with a bored expression despite the unpleasant way in which my meager meal was congealing within my stomach. I never was a stage performer, always opting for a way out. But this was unavoidable.

The group's chanting meshed together into a monotonous drone as each student intoned the incantation. Today's lesson: Shakkahō. Practical Shakkahō. Imagine.

Blazing fireballs formed in the air and sped towards the row of targets opposite the group, some earlier, some later; some potent, most not. Most of them sputtered out pathetically before scorching the grass, while other, more volatile ones exploded in midair or crash-landed on the poor lawn. A small squad from the fourth division looked on nervously.

I yawned, just wanting mine over with.

Sensei observed, tutting with disapproval as the first group finished its rounds. "The lot of you stay after class. Second group, forward!"

With a start I lurched forward. I forced myself to breathe. Inhale, exhale. I clamped down on any errant butterflies and various other insects currently using my stomach as a trampoline.

Why was I like this? It's not as though I'd never done this before. I've performed this countless times, granted not with this class. I'd requested the extra instruction. Not because my grades were lacking, but because I needed it.

Inhale, exhale.

"Begin!"

I sought the peace within myself, channeled my energies into my outstretched palm. Slowly, quietly, I began the chant, climbing in power and intensity as the incantation built upon itself.

"Oh ruler, mask of flesh and blood, all creations of the universe, fluttering of the wings, ye who bears the name of man," I murmured, "scorching heat and disorder, evolve the transposition of the southern sea barrier."

As I chanted, though, I felt something unfamiliar build within me, something alien. It felt completely out of place. As my power built within my palm, so did another—a voice inside me added to it, changed it. I wish I could have heard what it said. It was too late to stop.

"Hadō no 31: Shakkahō!"

As I delivered the finalizing component, so did the voice. One short, sharp word.

A blazing mass erupted from my palm, a dangerous cocktail of energies known and unknown. It rocketed towards the targets with blazing speed, charring the grass as it went. It was extremely unstable.

Unexpectedly, before it reached the wall it came to an abrupt stop. The surface boiled from internal pressure. Something inside it seemed to snap. It convulsed, warping out of its spherical shape and dilating until it was larger than a small child.

It glowed, white-hot. Red was suffused with swirling green energies.

The instructor was fleeing, and yelling at the other students to do the same. But they could only stare.

Suddenly the thing seemed to freeze, growing brighter all the time. It gave a final pulse and shattered.

* * *

But I wasn't looking that. I stared at what was right in front of my face. Trembling.

I shook. My hand. What the hell was wrong with my hand?

Ridiculously long, tapered claws covered my own fingertips. Flexible armor plating had appeared over the back of my hand, extending several inches down my forearm.

It was white. Bone white.

* * *

**Um, owari?**


	3. Chapter 3

_Completed 7/13/08_

**This one's a shortie—more of a prelude than a full-length chapter. Have fun, and remember that I don't own Bleach.**

* * *

Screams resounded all throughout the courtyard as students scrambled out of the way of the uncontrollable spearhead blasts.

The instructor cursed. Leaping in front of the students, he barked a hasty bakudō, both circumventing the incantation and producing a shield to negate the errant shards of energy.

It was barely in time. Most of the blasts were absorbed by the shield; several ricocheted off to explode not-so-harmlessly against the courtyard walls, showering hapless students with shards of hot stone. A few of the more potent bolts hammered against the shield and cracked its shimmering surface. The instructor flinched with each blow. It held, but barely.

I could only stare at my hand, and the _thing_ that seemed to have latched itself on. Even as I watched, green shards of power materialized above it, forming into white fragments and fusing with the existing piece. It crept up my arm.

I shook. My hand wavered in my vision. I didn't know _what_ the hell it was, but it was coming off.

I grasped the jagged edge with a shaking hand. I was going to rip it off and pound it into the ground until it was dust. My intentions blazed across my vision.

Immediately hot shards of pain laced through my head, down my arm. I thought I heard a distant cry.

But I pulled. I wrenched, I ripped and tore at it, grappled at it until it came off in my hand, where it shattered into indiscernible fragments. They faded into green wisps, dissolving into the morning air.

The blinding pain died down along with the mournful voice that dissipated into soft pleading whispers, eventually fading away altogether.

I stared numbly at my hand. It took several seconds to realize that someone was speaking to me; I looked ahead.

"—don't know what the hell you were thinking, launching that goddamned _bomb_!" the instructor screamed. Flecks of saliva peppered my face. Classmates were gathered all around us. "Just _look_ at what you did!"

I blinked and looked around. Craters littered the rock wall and pristine grass lawn. A tree off to the side was torched.

I looked across to my target. Nothing.

I looked down the left, down the right. No targets. I swallowed and looked back at sensei, who was glaring daggers at me.

Oh, shit.

"First," he growled, "go back to your dormitory. You're exhausted from a shot like that, I know. We'll discuss your punishment later."

Bewildered, I turned and headed back to the novices' quarters. Exhausted? I searched myself. No, that wasn't it. I knew my limits, knew that something so powerful, such an unrefined mass of reiatsu was an energy dump. It would normally have sent me unconscious. It was either incredibly efficient, or... what?

Shakkahō isn't a particularly efficient choice for offensive kidō: just a mass of explosive reiatsu converted into superheated fire. But that wasn't just Shakkahō. I'm not even convinced it was solely kidō. It was a combination with god-knows-what, producing an incredibly volatile blast of energy. Lacking my control, it lost direction and exploded. If that entire thing had landed against a surface, or contacted sensei's bakudō...

Finally I reached my room. Since I'd reentered the Academy, they haven't stuck me with a roommate. Thank god.

My head hit the pillow, and almost instantly I drifted off into a dream-plagued sleep.

* * *

It turns out the bastard landed me with cleaning up the kidō instruction site and replacing the targets, tree and grass. He also forced me to assist in the reparation of the wall.

You can guess who the bastard was. Yep, my kidō instructor. He also removed me from his classes.

What I don't understand is how the hell they added those things without the expectation of something blowing up. It's a _practical kid__ō__ instruction site._ With novices. Students at the academy. Lots of potential there. Why did they include these fancy little bits knowing that? They probably never forced any previous students to replace every little thing they blew up before me out of our pathetic little student budgets. Then again, probably nobody ever destroyed most of the courtyard.

Finally I finished for the day. As I dragged my poor broken body and its amassed collection of bruises, sprains and sores over to my dormitory to collapse for the night, a small group of shinigami passed by in the halls.

"—seen Hinamori-fukitaichō? Need to report—"

"—heard she's with the other vice-captains—"

As they rounded about the corner and disappeared, something inside me clicked. A protesting memory bubbled up sluggishly from beneath several layers of aggravation and exhaustion. I forced my weary and manual-labor-numbed brain to focus. What did I...?

Oh, no. Fifth Division's Commissions Office. After lessons. Which ended about six hours ago.

I turned tail and sprinted back the way I came.

* * *

"Sorry I'm late!" I gasped, leaning on the door frame and panting heavily. "Lessons, you know, only just remembered—"

A bored-looking woman glanced up from her desk. "Aida Satsuki?"

I nodded. Looking back down she continued in a businesslike tone. "Aida Satsuki, you are charged to—"

"Wait," I interrupted, adopting a polite voice atop my ire, "what is it that Commissions Office needs with me that's so important, ma'am? I'm still taking my requested classes and am technically out of action as far as missions go—"

"No matter. We've seen to it that your lessons are postponed, and all involved parties notified of your departure." She glared at me. "This is a mission assigned directly from Central Forty-Six itself. You will take it."

I gaped back. Central Forty-Six? Since when did they have enough free time to bandy about discussing the fate of lowbies such as myself?

Finally I regained my voice. "What's so special about it?" I asked, feeling helpless. Apprehension grew within me.

She seemed to lose a bit of her composure, allowing disconcertion and worry to seep through. "Nothing, as far as I can tell. You want to hear it or no?"

I nodded, feeling the steel jaws of the trap close around me.

"Aida Satsuki, you are charged to take up residence within Karakura Town of Japan for a period of two months and eradicate any and all hollows that threaten the existence of its humans."

* * *

**That's it for now. I only have the last few lines for chapter four transcribed from brain to computer, but five is nearly finished and will be uploaded soon after.**

**This is the first time I've employed this particular writing style, and, finding that I like it, want to know what you think. In other words review or I'll sic my vicious OC hollow on your family.**

**Thank you for last time :3**


	4. Chapter 4

**This is a little longer than my other chapters and I considered splitting it into two. Didn't want to cut it, though, so here it is. Thank you all who have already reviewed!**

* * *

_Focus_

Wind speed, temperature, distance, movement...

Movement. It moved. Adjustments—

_Focus_

There! Flying, can't let it escape. Take aim and—

"Hadō no 4: Byakurai!"

A thunderous crack shattered the evening air. Twisting coils moved in on the hollow, the impact sending it flying into a nearby tree. Rushing onto the scene I was just in time to see it dissolve; the kidō had speared it beautifully through its ugly equine mask.

I sheathed the unused asauchi and carefully inspected the scene. The tree had bowed under the impact of the middling-sized hollow, nothing too major. The ground, however, was a different matter: the hollow, already injured from their fight minutes previously, had peppered the ground with its acidic blood. Smoking pockmarks inches deep littered the earth. Eventually they might hit a water main, or injure a human child wandering near here.

I fingered my spirit phone and contemplated summoning the Twelfth Division to clean up, but decided to do it myself. I didn't feel up to meeting anyone else just then.

I took a quick scan around the park, verifying that it was deserted before taking out a small vial concealed within the folds of my shihakusho. I tipped it over my right hand, the specially designed nozzle forming every drop that landed: one at the tip of each finger.

I concentrated reiatsu into my hand before carefully lowering it within inches of the first hole. Vapor ghosted out, the product of the concoction imbibing my own spiritual energy; I directed it around the hole, molding it to its shape and slowly lowering it in as it gradually neutralized the hollow's acidic blood.

After repeating the process for each crater I pocketed the vial and glanced around again, casting out all of my senses. Nothing. Not one hollow. I needed to take advantage of any reprieve, no matter how short; the mission, which at first had seemed lively, was becoming only tiresome. With an easy leap I landed on a relatively straight branch high in the woebegone tree.

I sighed moodily. Just fifty-eight days and twelve hours to go...

I rearranged my legs and sat easily on the branch, my back leaning heavily against the wide trunk. The tree's rough exterior seemed to work as an abrasive, smoothing out my irritation and settling my mood.

I glanced down at where the hollow had been purified. Or had it? They'd said that a shinigami's zanpakutō was what cleansed a hollow of its sins and sent it to Soul Society, but nothing about alternative methods—namely kidō, despite its common usage in slaying hollows. I frowned. My asauchi technically was a zanpakutō, maybe I should have been using that—

Then it came. Like a scent floating in the stiff evening breeze, the feeling washed over me, caressing the outermost layers of my skin and clothing. I stiffened. I felt it: the reiatsu of a hollow. And... what was that? My eyes narrowed as I concentrated on the spiritual pressure. Intertwined with the hollow's as it was, it was difficult to pick out, but it definitely wasn't a shinigami. The two were locked in combat.

I rushed towards the source. As far away as they felt, the reiatsu was nearly imperceptible even to my especially receptive senses. Why hadn't my spirit phone gone off? Damn it, of all the times for the battery to die—

A sudden blast of reiatsu caught me off guard and sent me tumbling. I tried standing up, but my knees buckled under the strain of the incredible spiritual pressure. What the hell?

As the scene swam into view my eyes confirmed what I had already suspected—an enormous hollow, its size rivaling that of the nearby buildings.

It stood tall and wide, its thick torso studded with bony protrusions. Fists the size of tractors swung dangerously from the end of long, gorilla-like arms, coming perilously near an apartment building. Its small head stood atop massive, gray-skinned shoulders, obscured by a bone-white mask with the cruel face of an eagle.

I could only stare, trembling, waiting for those hands to snatch me up and tear me apart, tossed into the hooked beak of that monster. Hollow bait.

I reached up and slapped my face. I couldn't afford to stand around and gape. I reached into my kimono and fished around for my spirit phone; bringing it out, I flipped it open and punched the buttons with frantic fingers.

Nothing. Not a beep—I'd forgotten that it had died. I cursed wildly and threw it on the ground, reaching around to draw my asauchi. Surely Soul Society would have detected the terrifying reiatsu this thing exuded; surely they were sending reinforcements. I only needed to draw it away from the city. My duty was towards protecting the humans.

Its back turned to me, the hollow faced a nearly gutted dining joint, held at bay by whatever fought it; the scene was otherwise deserted. Occupied as it was, it didn't seem to notice me coming around behind it. Flashes of reiatsu flickered in and out of my senses: the same as I had felt before. Now nearer, I took a closer analysis.

Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't a shinigami. I could swear it felt like what some of the Pluses gave off, but it was so _huge_. More than mine. As it was, it could probably compare to the sixth or seventh seats in my division, if rather raw and unrefined. Enough to keep the hollow occupied and its back to me.

I hesitated. If I set up a more powerful and complex kidō and took it unawares, I might have a slim chance of damaging it and slightly impairing its ability to fight and give chase, but things looked bad for the other combatant—

A sudden roar of frustration. Even as I watched, the hollow cocked back its arm back and let fly an enormous, reiatsu-enforced punch.

Rubble flew. The remaining walls began to collapse, and I thought I heard a faint cry—

But I was already running, spurred on by adrenaline and the cry of a helpless human. Because I knew now, that thing was definitely human.

I leaped past the hollow's outstretched sausage-link fingers, through plaster and jagged rebar, soaring through a dusty cloud—

and directly into the human. He let out a yelp of surprise as we rolled across the rubble, a dangerous mass of flailing limbs and sword blades and curses. We came to an abrupt stop, me being the brake against an upturned table.

I stood up and yanked him to his feet. He looked ridiculous, his hair and face a mass of dusty white and his clothing no better. I could only imagine how my dark shinigami uniform was like. Ah, well, this wasn't topping my list of priorities at the moment.

"Wha—" he began, but I cut him off.

"Don't speak," I said sharply. "Don't speak, don't struggle, don't breathe if you can help it. Just don't pass out." His mouth opened and closed, apparently lost for words. "No questions? Good, because we are _out of here—_"

Then it was the hollow's turn to cut me off with an irritated snort. "A shinigami?" it said, narrowing its greedy yellow eyes at me. "I was not expecting two spiritually rich creatures to wander across my path today." With that it extended a lazy hand, obviously not expecting any resistance from an insignificant bug like me.

It was wrong. A metallic flash, a scream of rage—I quickly sheathed my asauchi and slung the human over my shoulder, bounding out of the diner and away from the hollow holding its stub of a finger to itself.

"Damn you!" it howled. I focused all my concentration into running and not peeing myself. Man, I was _pumped_. Terror does a thing for your running ability. Where the hell was backup?

I just ran. My brain made an unconscious decision, I think, to direct me towards the park, because I was only thinking, _run_. The human bounced like a sack of potatoes against my back. Dead weight.

Finally we reached the park, the same location where I had fought the last hollow. I maneuvered around the still-smoking craters, dumping the meatbag on the ground where he slumped against the tree, head lolling dazedly.

I put my hands on my knees and panted. There was no way I could keep this up, especially not weighted down as I was, which I wouldn't; the human was too full of reiryoku to be ignored by the hollow. If the hollow really tried, it could catch up quickly enough, but it seemed rather slow and lazy as hollows go. I raised my head and took a good look at him for the first time.

Our rushed flight had cleared most of the dust from his hair and face, and, now that I looked, he was just a kid. A dangerous, explosive-power-slinging kid. What _was_ that? The scorch marks in the café were not the hollow's doing. A shock of rather singed and dusty reddish hair fell over warm brown eyes, which were, at the moment, wide-eyed and fearful. I estimated him at around seventeen years of age.

I glanced behind me; the hollow would take some time to catch up. Sitting down, I redirected my attention towards the kid. "What was that?"

He gave a start and looked up. "What?" he asked, looking confused.

I scowled and, reaching forward, grabbed a handful of shirt and hoisted him into a sitting position. "I said," I intoned deliberately, "what was that?"

"That thing?" he said, shaking slightly. He glanced behind me. "I don't know, it just popped up, I don't know where it came from, or, or what—"

I waved his words away. "No, that's a hollow, evil spirit, whatever. What was that flashy light you just made?"

"Me?" He glanced down at his hands. "I don't know that, either, it's something I've just been able to do. A few days."

I nodded slowly. That would explain why he had never seen a hollow before now; only recently was the reiatsu released from the constraints within his body. He was not a receiver; he was a source.

He looked at me uncertainly. "Does that... that _thing_ have anything to do with the people I've seen? The ones only I can talk to? My friends called me crazy."

"It certainly does. Those are its prey." I tried, unsuccessfully, at sitting up.

I looked up to find him towering over me. "Here," he said, extending a helpful hand. As I reached for it, his eyes roved over my clothing, lingering at the sheathed sword. "You're one of those, too, aren't you." It didn't sound like a question. "What are you?"

I took his hand and pulled myself up. "A shinigami," I said vaguely, dusting myself off.

His eyes widened. "Shinigami?"

"That's right." I drew my asauchi and faced the stinging wind of the nearing hollow's reiatsu. "We're just glorified ghosts, you see."

He glanced back over; I knew he could feel it. Anxiety was etched on his face. "You can really take on that thing?"

"No," I said shortly.

"Ah." He glanced over. "Then why?"

I smiled. "Because it's my job." He looked at me with disbelief. "I know, sucks, right? Think about this next time you're safely flipping hamburgers at McDonald's—"

The ground shuddered, effectively cutting off their conversation. Reiatsu scythed through the air, leaving visible ripples in my clothing and hair. The hollow was making its way into my line of sight. My grip around my asauchi tightened; I felt oddly calm.

I looked over to him. "Are you up to doing anything?"

Bringing his hands up to his face, he set his face into one of concentration. Trembling knees and a drooping figure betrayed his fear and fatigue, adrenaline apparently the only thing keeping him on his feet.

Several seconds—a spark. His hands dropped to his sides; he looked defeated. "No," he whispered, eyes cast down.

I reached over and patted his shoulder cheerily. "Don't worry, kid, this won't be a last stand or anything. Just watch." I realized, to my surprise, that I wished with all my heart that it were true, wished that I could save this one human. What kind of shinigami couldn't save a single human boy?

The hollow approached. Only a few moments left to live. I'd given up hope that help would come. My one goal, now, was to delay it for a few minutes, delay it enough to give the boy a chance to run, reduce the number of humans it consumed—

Something warm ran down my cheek. I reached up and felt it. Tears? Why was I crying—?

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. "I know what you're thinking," a voice said, right in my ear. "I won't run. I won't leave you. That monster is my responsibility; it came after me. Please, don't make me leave."

I nodded. There was no chance of convincing him, I knew. Turning my head, I stared into his eyes, inches from mine. "You don't mind dying, then?"

He shook his head slowly, releasing my shoulder and returning to his place. I heard the hollow stop meters from where we stood.

I adopted a ready stance. "That's good."

I looked up into blazing yellow eyes. Despair and defeat melted away to be replaced with utter certainty.

I raised my sword. "I've changed my mind," I said, and found that I meant those words, "neither of us will be dying." With that I was ready. My hand was still; my breathing even. I felt my heart calm.

The hollow looked down with great disdain. "You aren't running?"

I didn't answer.

"Shame," it said, and reached down.

* * *

I closed my eyes and opened them elsewhere.

Darkness greeted me. Stars, shocking contrast against the pitch black sky, surrounded a great blazing moon that bathed the landscape in silver. They were cheery lanterns guarding against the encroaching darkness.

I looked down. My feet stood upon the glassy black surface of a lake, extending infinitely in all directions. Even as I watched, the reflection of the moon reformed on its surface, generating my own memories from both the near and distant past. I watched as my emotions played out for me to see.

I watched what was the most immediate, and strongest: my desire to save the boy. I saw his face, metamorphosing from terror to curiosity, to confusion and uncertainty, to determination and acceptance. All from the short span I had known him.

A presence drew near, something vaguely recognizable, like a old friend long since seen. I felt rather than saw it stop inches behind me.

_What is your wish?_ it whispered, its voice mesmerizing yet seductive. The barest of a breath brushed against the back of my neck.

I closed my eyes, but the images continued to play in my mind. "To save him, and be able to call myself a death god."

It paused. _What must I do?_

"Lend me your power," I whispered, urgency betraying my voice.

Silence.

A glow enveloped me, bathing me in a bright white radiance richer than the moon. It lifted me high into the air, and I was shooting towards the sky and its bright, bright moon—

And the world exploded around me.

* * *

It felt like the worst hangover of my life.

As I steadily drew nearer to complete consciousness, voices tugged at the edge of my mind. Reiatsu washed over me, a lulling rhythm to match my own. All around me. Was I in the hollow's belly...?

Hollow.

My eyes snapped open and I bolted upright.

Or I tried to. I lay back, gasping in pain; each movement felt like a knife in my ribs. Concerned hands held me down against the grassy earth. I stared up into the faces of a small group of people, who were, judging by the kits slung across their shoulder, a squad from the Fourth Division. The setting sun cast a deep red glow across their faces.

"Please don't move; we've only just pulled your life out of danger." I looked over to the owner of the voice: a woman at my side. Her hands glowed a pale green over a part of my body I couldn't see. My right hand.

Experimentally, I tried to wiggle my fingers. Nothing. Very carefully, I lifted my head to stare over myself.

And was met with the most gruesome sight of my life. My breath caught in my throat.

The skin was blackened and crisp, the fingers shriveled into twisted lumps of flesh. I had a feeling that I should be screaming in agony right then, but I felt nothing. My breath quickened into painful, panicked gasps.

Gentle fingers brushed my face and I instantly felt drowsy. "Please calm down," the woman said. "This hand is the worst of it. We healed the rest of your body and regrew your hair, but some unknown force caused internal injuries. Don't exert yourself."

I finally found the voice to speak in the barest croak. "What... what happened?"

"You don't remember?" I twitched my head to the side. "We found you like this. The entire place is a mess."

Carefully, I tilted my head to look to the side, and was met with sloping ground. I looked around. We were in a shallow hole, the edges some several dozen feet away. Singed wood littered the freshly overturned earth. Shinigami swarmed the scene, some taking samples of the soil, others studying the formation with apparent interest. Several off to the side looked around warily, fingering their zanpakutōs.

We were in a crater, and I was the epicenter.

I took a look down myself and blushed. Most of my shihakusho was burned away; someone must have taken pity on me and covered all the important bits with the remaining scraps. "Here," the woman said, and draped a pale blue hospital gown over me to preserve my modesty.

I sighed and closed my eyes. Memories welled up unbidden: the flight, overwhelming despair, utter resolve and conviction...

The human boy...

My eyes fluttered open. "Where is he?" I whispered.

She frowned. "Who?"

I gestured slightly with my healthy left hand. "A human kid. He was here, and the hollow—"

Footsteps. Someone was approaching to my left. Twisting my head slightly, I dully took note of an armband with the character 12 inscribed on it.

Kurotsuchi Nemu, Twelfth Division.

"You are awake?" she asked. I didn't answer. She studied me carefully, stoic face and impassive green eyes giving nothing away. She gestured towards my shredded clothes. "We found you like this. Someone covered you before fleeing the scene; you were also somewhat healed, enough to preserve your life until the Fourth Division arrived. Who was it?"

"Really, she shouldn't be talking—" the woman said anxiously, but I cut in over her, my voice stronger than before.

"A human boy. He can see us, his powers are developed, and—" I hesitated, "I believe he is a natural source, rather than a receiver."

She watched me impassively. "And you believe he healed you?"

I nodded.

She turned to leave. "Wait," I called. She turned around and I looked her in the eye. "Why did it take so long for Soul Society to arrive? My spirit phone was out of power, though I could swear I replaced the batteries before I left. A hollow that enormous could hardly fail to be detected by you lot."

She hesitated. "It was only late in the battle that our equipment managed to pick up a reiatsu signal, and it did not belong to that hollow."

Surprised, my mouth hung open. "Who, then? The boy's?"

She shook her head. "In addition, as it is now, it is impossible to determine exactly how the hollow died. Yours, the hollow's and the human's reiatsu are muddied and entwined together in the entire area, but with you unconscious during the fight we could safely assume that the boy was the one who produced the blast and incinerated the hollow. It's strange, though," she continued, "another hollow's spiritual energy was found. And it was strange, somehow. It didn't belong to an ordinary Gillian." With that she left, leaving a very confused me in the center of a crater caused by god knows what.

* * *

I sat perched on the roof of the diner, Kurotsuchi's words playing over and over again in my head.

I didn't remember what happened during the fight, or just after. They told me that they could not find any trace of the human's reiatsu leaving the scene. My insides twisted. Without me having been healed, I would have been certain that he had been devoured by the hollow.

He had healed me. I brightened at that. That meant that he was still alive, and out of the greedy grasp of the Twelfth Division. I found myself wishing that I hadn't mentioned him at all; I needed to find him, and quickly, before Soul Society caught up. I didn't know how, yet.

I wondered how he managed to evade trained professionals, experts at tracking aided by devices produced by the Twelfth Division itself. Perhaps he had ungodly reiatsu manipulation skills. How else could he have healed me, without any training or experience? He would have been exhausted from pushing his body past the brink like that.

I sighed and shelved these thoughts away. Leaning back, I closed my eyes and sank into a doze. Shapes swam into view: the terror of the flight, the hollow's sneering face, a bright, bright disc of shining silver—

My eyes snapped open. What was that? Just a dream...

Leaning forward, I studied the throng of humanity making its merry way through the streets.

It was then that I saw it. A bobbing head weaving in and out of the crowd; a flash of pale pink; the glare reflected off an ostentatious pair of glasses.

An image, a memory burned into my brain flared to life. A darkened room, voices, light, pain—

My breath caught in my throat.

_Szayel._

* * *

**Mmm, got you there, did I? Too bad, I call owari for now.**

**Reviews are treasured! Maybe you can tell me whether you would want OCxSatsuki or IchigoxSatsuki, because I'm flipping between the two right now. **


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Bleach or its chars but my own  
And this story's not something to clone  
That disclaimer was quick  
Now on to the fic  
And please don't forget to review!**

**Now that that abomination unto literature is out of my head, please enjoy the chapter and disregard the fact that it took ages to update.**

* * *

I raced through the crowd, shoving unwary citizens out of the way. Surprised and puzzled cries followed in my wake; I wasn't in the mood to be polite.

My target had stopped and was speaking to a merchant. A pleasant smile had taken residence on his face. Obviously he was in a gigai. Even so, why couldn't I sense him...?

As I neared, I swear he saw me coming edgewise. Anxiety passed over his features though he continued to converse with the merchant.

There was a point when I raced closer that he knew I knew what he was, knew I was coming straight for him. He had no time to react. When I caught up with him I slammed him through the booth, against the wall. Scattered screams assaulted my ears, but I paid them no mind; I was oblivious to all but the man in front of me, the man that was a central figure in my pain, both past and present.

I held his collar in a choking grip. He struggled briefly, but in a gigai, he stood no chance against me. Finally he calmed.

He straightened his glasses with two fingers. "What is your business, shinigami?" He shot me a condescending look. "Since when have you been at liberty to assault innocent souls?"

"Szayel," I spat. "I thought you were dead."

He gazed back impassively. "What, didn't they tell you?" He chuckled. "Count on the shinigami to cover up their own mistakes. I escaped."

I growled, deep in my throat. "All the better for me to get some answers before crushing you."

"Answers?" He reached up and adjusted his glasses. "You seem to have a personal grudge against me, shinigami. You look familiar. Have we met?"

I let out a bark of laughter. Lifting my wavy brown hair from around my face, I said, "Met? We've met. Do you recognize this face?"

He peered down at me. "I'm afraid not."

I drew back my fist and struck him across the face. The sickening sound of flesh on flesh rang across my hearing, sweeping through my senses and leaving a throbbing red tattoo spattered across my knuckles. "Lost interest in your latest science project so quickly, Szayel?" I snarled. "Is life so meaningless to you?"

He blinked slightly, momentarily stunned by the blow. He looked down at me once again, eyes narrowed; eventually something seemed to click with him. His eyes widened. "You..."

I gave a depraved grin. "Yes, me. Do you remember the darkened cell? Aizen-taichō? Whatever you did to me?" I drew back my fist again. "Spill it, Szayel. How have you remained undetected down here on Earth so long?"

He reached down, that scrutinizing expression still plastered on. His fingers lightly brushed my face. "You're still alive..." he murmured, seemingly ignoring my question.

That was it. I let fly my fist again; unexpectedly, his own, larger hand caught it, holding it in place as I struggled. Otherwise his attention never left me, his eyes never straying from my own. Abruptly he snapped back into reality, his hand lowering to his side. The one holding my fist moved to my wrist and forced it down out of the way. I yanked my arm back.

He scowled down at me. "Don't struggle, girl. Yes, I have managed to stave off any impending capture under the cover of this gigai that I myself designed to mask my reiatsu. It's also stronger than you.

"Forgive me. It's just that you wouldn't be familiar with the pride that I feel in a successful experiment. No doubt you have never undergone such an endeavor. Your name is Satsuki, correct? Aida Satsuki?"

I stared back. "That's right. And what do you mean by 'successful experiment'?"

"Well, Satsuki-san, that's you. Aizen-sama and I worked on you and a number of other insignificant shinigami; you're simply the singularly successful trial of said experiment, the last before I escaped from Las Noches."

I shook with anger; I was faintly surprised it didn't burn him. "How?" was the only word I could choke out.

He sighed, irritated. "After I defeated both the red-haired shinigami and the Quincy brat, Aizen-sama ordered me away from the battles involving the invading captains. I witnessed both him and my fellow Espada overrun; many had come, including the mismatched crew of shinigami and human, captains, even the vizard—also known as the former leaders of Seireitei. One of them was quite a shock for our poor Aizen-sama."

Szayel smiled. "I don't know why I still refer to him as that. He lost the battle for us, after all. Our dear leader." He chuckled. "I'm actually quite disgusted with him."

I was only lost. "What the hell's a vizard?"

"A shinigami who has trespassed into hollow territory." He looked at me levelly. "The brat who killed Aizen-sama is one. Kurosaki Ichigo. I heard that he is captain of the Fifth now; quite the achievement.

"I'm not surprised you didn't know that one, either. Imagine the unrest if one of the leaders, the figureheads of Soul Society was part Hollow, the very abomination they had sworn to eradicate."

"What does this have to do with me?" I demanded. Right then I didn't care what the hell my captain was or did; I was only concerned with squeezing the shit out of the arrancar who had fucked up something inside me.

He gazed back at me, almost pityingly. "You are one, too. A vizard. Part hollow. Halfbreed. Whatever you wish to name it."

Incomprehension must have shown on my face, because he sighed and said, "We're here because you wanted to know exactly what Aizen-sama and I had done to you that night, correct? Not to exchange chitchat like the old acquaintances we are?" He leaned closer. "I'm sure you can recall the device Aizen-sama used on you."

A bright light descending, flashing, pain, stars—

He nodded at my expression. "That was called the Hougyoku. It could be activated for infinitesimal periods of time by fusing temporarily with someone in possession of twice the reiatsu of the average captain. Aizen-sama had such qualities; he used the Hougyoku not only to create us arrancar, but to create _you_, Satsuki-san. You, a vizard.

"You see, the Hougyoku has the ability to dissolve the boundary that separates shinigami and Hollow. Aizen-sama drew upon the Hougyoku, and we were born. Former hollows, then acquiring shinigami powers via the Hougyoku and becoming the arrancar.

"Then we used it in reverse. We captured potential subjects, modified them in various ways and degrees. Most of these subjects—shinigami—perished in the initial rounds: the modifications. The rest died during the second phase when Aizen-sama activated the Hougyoku and directed its energies towards them. Only one survived."

Szayel reached up and gently removed my hands from his collar. I stared straight ahead, shocked, unable to resist.

He cupped my chin and turned me up to face him. "You, Satsuki-san. You alone survived the brutal rounds of testing, the trials, the Hougyoku. You also have far more potential than any of the previous vizard, which may prove to be more of a curse than a blessing. I believe I know the reason.

"We'd expanded and sterilized your mind, tempered your reiatsu to make you more susceptible to extraspiritual flows—namely that of the Hougyoku. All of these factors built towards potentially explosive amounts of spiritual energy. It was on a completely different level than that of an ordinary vizard.

"It was all very volatile, enough so that I was nervous of the outcome. You could have acquired enough reiatsu that your limited body exploded, taking a quarter of Las Noches with it; decomposed; or simply dropped dead from the strain.

"It was neither. A new, completely unexpected outcome developed. You see, as far as we know in our expansive knowledge on the dynamics of the body, mind and spirit, the bonds sealing the inner world of a shinigami can never be broken. Unlocked, yes, by the shinigami in question upon entering or exiting it, or in the materialization of their zanpakutou. It can be breached by a spirit-transfer shell from the outside. In actuality, each time a shinigami releases their zanpakutou, they create a controlled gateway between worlds.

"But never dissolved. The inner world of a shinigami is the most secure location known, so to speak. With the exception of a zanpakutou nothing can get out if it does not want to.

"This is precisely what occurred within you. Your Hollow sealed itself and its abundant quantities of reiryoku inside your inner world the moment it came into existence. There it waited, occasionally projecting minute amounts of power whenever the situation called for it."

"Minute...?" I croaked.

Szayel nodded. "As I mentioned, your spiritual body could not normally sustain an entity such as that hollow without breaking down. The strain is too great. Its presence, over time, strengthened and conserved your body; eventually, someday, you may be capable of fully unlocking your inner hollow."

He looked down at me pityingly. "When that day comes, I pray for the poor souls nearby; the uncontrollable powers are still capable of destroying you and those around you. Just because your body might take it doesn't mean the atmosphere can."

I shook. I was terrified. Who wouldn't be, after practically having their death clock hung around their neck. "And you aren't sorry? At all?"

Szayel snorted. "Sorry? You were the test subject, I the scientist. Sacrifice is necessary in technological and scientific advancement." He began to walk off. "Farewell, Satsuki-san; I hope you survive. For a shinigami, you were truly interesting."

I could only stare at his retreating back.

* * *

**I'm sure you're wondering how they managed to chat for so long without anyone confronting Szayel, the man who magically flew through a booth. To be frank, I don't know either.**

**Please review! I want to know whether the story is good, bad, bleh, or whether it's getting too boring. I want to know whether I kept Szayel suitably in character. I want to know how I handled the writing. Things will heat up soon; next chapter, in fact.**


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